


Never Worn White

by fetts_vette



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Boba Fett Fucks a Fangirl, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Virgin Reader, Virginity Kink, innocence kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fetts_vette/pseuds/fetts_vette
Summary: Cloud City, Bespin during the events of The Empire Strikes Back. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Reader, Boba Fett & You, Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I am a beacon of sin, so of course I’m back with a fic about Boba Fett fucking a virgin. I don’t have an explanation for why that’s so hot to me, but it is. This is the first of three chapters and is pretty much a glorified introduction (because I can’t just write porn without plot, apparently) and there’s no outright smut, although there is some spicy language. But Mr. Fett’s ass is grass, and our innocent, foolish little reader wants to mow it. Eventually, anyway. We’ll get there. Are there bounty hunter groupies in the Star Wars galaxy who fantasize about being railed by their faves? Well… now there are. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_Boba Fett was in town._

There had been rumblings around the city for the past several days. Something big was happening, but nobody seemed to be sure of exactly what. You’d overheard people at the Shadow Market saying there was a beautiful woman who matched the description of Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan - well, _formerly_ of Alderaan, now - staying in the guest quarters of the Administrator’s Palace, with a motley crew of attendants that included, of all creatures, a Wookiee. There were whispers of the famous spice smuggler, Han Solo, having been sighted as well, and even quieter mumblings concerning something called a ‘Skywalker’ (whatever that meant). An Imperial Garrison had been installed earlier in the week with no sign of leaving anytime soon, and the Baron Administrator himself, Lando Calrissian, had allegedly been seen meeting with _Lord Darth Vader himself._

Or so your roommate claimed.

“That big scary guy who works for the Emperor? The one with the magic powers who sounds like he breathes through a gas-processing vane?” You had asked skeptically when they’d burst into your shared flat with the news, the normally relaxed Aruzan acting infuriatingly bubbly at finally having gotten hold of the hot gossip in the neighborhood before you had.

The very same, they insisted; and the Baron hadn’t looked too pleased to be hosting such a powerful representative of the Empire, either.

They hadn’t seen anything themself, no - they’d heard it from one of their coworkers at Pair O’ Dice, who’d claimed their cousin’s friend’s uncle had seen them together, walking across the Apex Overlook with a squadron of armed stormtroopers trailing behind them… the amount of parties involved in this city-wide game of Comlink Operator seemed to go on and on and on. You couldn’t decipher what was true, and what was just garbled rumors and hearsay. And you couldn’t make sense why such a varied amalgamation of the galaxy’s most well-known creatures would choose to congregate at a mining colony so far away in the Outer Rim.

There was one thing you were absolutely certain of, however.

_Boba Fett was here, in Cloud City._

You’d never been so sure of anything in your life. You knew it was true. 

_Because you’d seen his ship yourself._

It had been two days ago. You hadn’t been able to sleep, even after a long night waiting tables at K’cri’s Cafe, and you’d decided to take a walk down by the landing platforms in the wee hours of the morning, dawn still only a pinkish-orange smudge barely visible above the thick cloudline. Whatever the time of day or night, there was always some action going on there - ships arriving constantly, bringing tourists from all over the galaxy looking to try their luck at one of Cloud City’s various casinos. You enjoyed watching the multitudes of different creatures disembarking off their various means of transportation - sub-aquatic Mon Calamari, blue-hued Chiss, reptilian Trandoshans; you’d even seen some gargantuan Hutts a few months ago, with their retinues of slaves and hangers-on, making their sluggish way across the concourse towards Yarith Bespin. It sometimes seemed that this city never truly slept.

You’d been about to finally call it a night, still not particularly tired but knowing that you should attempt to go home, draw your curtains against the burgeoning light of the sun, and get some shut-eye before your next shift the following evening, when a bizarre sound from above snapped you out of your reverie. 

You’d heard the _Slave I_ long before you’d seen it. 

The ship’s engine gave out a strange whining noise, unlike anything you’d ever heard in a transport. It reminded you of a gigantic buzz-bug, and you resisted the urge to swat at the air around your ears out of habit, squinting your eyes against the hazy morning light to see what kind of damned contraption could be making such a racket. 

The ship came into view as it banked around the clouds, beginning a slow descent towards one of the nearby docks, and you felt your heart give a walloping jolt from the shock of what you were witnessing.

_‘No… it can’t be… not here…’_

The ship was an ugly, mottled thing - a retired Firespray model of Old Republic make, the paint faded red and greenish-grey, much of it scraped away and adorned with deep gouges and obvious carbon scoring from firefights over the years. It had seemed to glide almost effortlessly through the air as it swept towards the docks, and as the transport grew closer and its image became more clear, your eyes widened, your blood screaming in your ears, your heart threatening to jump up out of your throat and flee from your frozen form. Its strangely vertical craft had suddenly rotated horizontally in the air, hanging momentarily as if suspended by a fine thread, and sank down to settle on one of the nearby landing pads, steam from the thrusters billowing around its now motionless form.

You knew the ship well, although you’d never actually seen it in real life. It was all over the Holonet News almost every time a huge sum of credits were posted on a well-known fugitive’s head, their eventual capture usually accompanied by footage of that very same transport leaving the scene. It was called the _Slave I_ , and was owned by a man who wore a ragged suit of Mandalorian armor, and who made his living by hunting down and - sometimes killing - those who found themselves on the wrong end of a particularly influential creature’s business dealings.

Rooted to the spot, trembling from excitement, you’d stood on your toes and craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot as they exited the durasteel behemoth. When the boarding ramp had finally extended, however, you’d turned and ran back to your apartment, a wave of anxiety at possibly seeing the owner - and _them_ seeing _you_ \- having overcome your senses. And there you’d hid for the rest of the day, pacing the floor of your living quarters and periodically peeking out the window, expecting to see the old Firespray taking off into open space from the vicinity of the dockyards across the city. But as far as you knew, it was still there. You could feel in your _guts_ that it was.

That was how you’d discovered that Boba Fett had come to Cloud City.

The deadliest and most effective bounty hunter in the entire galaxy, in your town.

And you wanted to meet him. You _needed_ to meet him.

It sounded almost dirty, to acknowledge that maybe you had a bit of a crush on Boba Fett. Although merely calling it a ‘crush’ was quite an understatement. 

You were _infatuated_ with him. 

You’d followed his career almost obsessively since your early teenage years, when he’d first erupted onto the bounty hunting scene and began making headlines thanks to the clean, efficient work he’d make of marks who’d been unfortunate enough to cross his path. He was highly dangerous and had a nasty reputation for being a ruthless killer, focused only on bringing pain to the creatures that could earn him as many credits as possible. On top of that, he had exclusive hunting contracts with both the Empire and the Hutts, which didn’t garner much support from communities sympathetic to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, such as your own. Much of the galaxy considered bounty hunters to be the lowest of scum, on the same level as the criminals and other dregs and vestiges of the civilized universe that they were famous for capturing. It was difficult to admit that it wasn’t the gorgeous Falleen who lived down the hall that you fantasized about sweeping off your feet and charming the Corellian hells out of you, but Boba Fett. 

You couldn’t fully explain it, even to yourself let alone your exasperated and befuddled friends, but there was just something downright _sexy_ about him. You felt weak in the knees whenever you saw his visage broadcast on the holocaster in the cafe, and your ears always tingled and burned when you caught his name being mentioned in a snatch of overheard conversation. You spent hours scrolling and typing on your holopad, searching for any and all information you could discover on this enigmatic figure who wore the regalia of an ancient warrior race. You’d made it a point to haunt the local nightclubs and bars on your nights off, always seeking out information on Boba Fett’s whereabouts in the galaxy, his latest jobs, encounters that the creatures constantly flowing in and out of the local entertainment establishments may have had with him during their travels. You’d heard how good of a lay - and a generous tipper - he supposedly was from several of the go-go dancers who worked at the Zero-G Club, and the idea of Boba Fett himself getting a lap dance in a seedy topless bar always sent liquid heat pooling to your core. One of your most prized sources of intelligence concerning Boba Fett was Rystáll Sant, the half-Theelian backup singer for the Max Rebo Band, whose frequent sets at the Blue Petal Bar you never missed for this express reason. Lyn Me and Greeata Jendowanian had their own Fett stories, but Sant in particular became very talkative about her famous conquests while touring the galaxy - always after a couple spotchkas, which you were more than happy to share with her.

Rystáll Sant was adamant that she’d had a casual physical relationship with Fett for years, and that he was, without question, the best fuck of her life. She hadn’t seen, let alone hooked up with him, in several months, no, but the band had a long-term residency at Jabba the Hutt’s palace on Tatooine coming up, and she was looking forward to finally reuniting with him there. He was one of Jabba’s favorite hired guns, after all. You always came away from your conversations with Rystáll feeling flushed and woozy, in a way that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol you both consumed while chatting. You’d always been too shy to grill her on any of the specifics of her dalliance with Fett, even though you knew she’d be happy to give them to you - what kind of a lover he was, if he was gentle or rough or a delicious mixture of the two, what he sounded like when he moaned, what he looked like both underneath his Mandalorian helmet and that mysteriously dented codpiece - but those unasked questions haunted you endlessly. You wanted to learn the answers yourself, somehow.

In short, you were helplessly drawn to Boba Fett, and found everything about him to be intoxicating - from the danger associated with his chosen career, to the mystery of what dashing good looks he _had_ to be hiding behind that black-visored helmet… and the fact that he was _experienced._

Because you’d never been with a man before.

_Ever._

You were a virgin in every sense of the word.

You didn’t consider yourself a prude, or anything close - you just felt you’d never met the right person who you’d want to share that part of yourself with. Your virginity was something sacred in your eyes, something you wanted to give to someone special, not to just waste on a drunken, spiced out tryst after a night partying. Your prospective admirers on Bespin bored you to tears, and you found yourself constantly daydreaming of being whisked away off-world by a masked man in a shining suit of armor; one who would take you on exciting adventures and carry you bridal-style back to his ship afterwards for a romantic, passionate night together.

You’d never admit it to anyone, knew you’d be laughed out of the social circles you’d managed to cultivate during your years living and working in Cloud City, but Boba Fett’s was the only name that ever came to your lips as you laid in bed, your hands between your legs, bringing yourself to climax twice, sometimes three times during one of your nightly sessions. Just the mere thought of him drove you wild in a way that no other person ever had, and you constantly fantasized about him claiming your innocence for his own, leaving you trembling and mewling underneath him.

And now, like a bolt out of the blue, he was actually _here_ , located in Cloud City on some unknown business, possibly entangled in whatever Imperial affairs that’d had the entire colony holding its collective breath over the previous days.

It almost seemed as if it were meant to happen, that you were supposed to seduce and sleep with him, despite your initial panic at his unprecedented arrival. You knew how it sounded. If anyone found out about what you were planning, discovered the details of your deepest fantasy, the one thing you truly wanted above all else, they’d have you admitted to the psychiatric medcenter at Cloud City Central.

It was true.

_You were saving yourself for Boba Fett._

You were on a mission to fulfill that adolescent promise to yourself, consequences be damned, and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud City, Bespin during the events of The Empire Strikes Back. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Some people call me the space cowboy, some call me the gangster of looooove…”_
> 
> Reader meets the object of her affection in this one. Our boy Bo is a snarky bastard, but are we surprised? Our dear reader sure wouldn’t have him any other way. Trust me though, he can be a charmer when he wants to be. We’re getting to the good stuff now, folks. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Mando’a terminology

  * _vaar’ika_ \- little runt
  * _nehutyc’ika_ \- feisty one
  * _cyar’tomade_ \- fans



-

“Your boyfriend’s at the Atrium.”

The words were like a lightning strike through the very fiber of your being, your whole body vibrating with their meaning, no matter how teasingly and sarcastically they were meant. Your head jerked up so fast from the holopad screen you’d been gazing at that you felt as if you had just given yourself whiplash, and your blood pressure instantly skyrocketed, leaving you feeling light-headed and dizzy. Your roommate grinned lecherously at you, their eyes glinting mischievously. They were one of the few people to know about your feelings for Boba Fett, and it was obvious now that they were torturing you, feeding you false information and getting your hopes up just to watch you fluster and squirm like a giddy schoolgirl. Of course, they didn’t know the extent of your infatuation, and what you were planning if you ever happened to cross paths with the infamous bounty hunter during his unprecedented stay in Cloud City. You didn’t intend to allow them to find out, either.

“...What are you talking about? Stop it.” You replied faintly, gazing up at them dumbly from your perch on the couch, uncrossing your legs and attempting to knead the life back into the prickling muscles. Your gaze drifted to your hands as you did so, trying futilely to get them to stop shaking just so your flatmate didn’t have something else to rib you over, and then skirted over to the wide window looking out over the city. Neat rows of transports crisscrossing in every direction lined the nighttime sky, carrying Cloud City’s citizens and tourists alike to where they needed to go. You couldn’t help but direct your vision towards the vicinity of the entertainment district, its bright lights plainly visible from your apartment. The Paradise Atrium was only a short distance away from your apartment on Figg Avenue, even closer than the landing bay where the _Slave I_ was still docked. There was _no_ way. It was too good to be true, simply meant to be. He was coming closer and closer to you.

“I’m not kidding. Boba Fett’s at the Paradise Atrium, _right now._ I had to stop there on my way home to drop off a couple containers of glitterstim my boss owed the slimeball that owns that place, y’know? I walked in and he was literally right there in the cantina, just sitting at one of the booths in the corner… the ones they always reserve for the _really_ top-tier VIPs.” They explained seriously, and you envisioned the layout of the lounge in your mind, an establishment you had visited quite often. Your thoughts brought you to the very rear of the adjacent and aptly-named Paradise Cantina... _into the recesses of a shadowy booth, where sat an imposing figure in a battle-worn suit of Mandalorian armor, reclined against the plush backing of the stall, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His codpiece was mysteriously absent, and you could see_ ** _everything_** _. He beckoned you closer with the twitch of a gloved finger_ ...and you shook yourself from your reverie, acutely aware that a cold sweat had started collecting on the back of your neck. You fought the urge to slap yourself across the face, the imagined mercenary still calling to you from your subconscious.

“Okay, okay… crik. Are you _absolutely_ sure it was him?” You pleaded desperately, and your roommate openly rolled their eyes in your direction, shaking their head incredulously. You needed to be sure. You’d heard of the Fett imposter Jodo Kast, and even though the presence of the _Slave_ _I_ on-world was an immediate indication that the visitor was the real deal himself, there was still a niggling disbelief in your mind. This just could not be happening right now.

“Of course I’m sure! Kriff, how many Mandos do you think are just walking around Cloud City? Beefy-looking buckethead wearing green scrap metal, more weapons on him than stars in the sky. Poor kid they had serving him was terrified, guy was shaking so bad he almost dropped a whole tray of brinebrew on the graysuits that were in the booth with him. And - okay, are we just going to ignore the fact that I called _Boba_ kriffing _Fett_ your **_boyfriend_** and you didn’t even blink? Honestly, I really can’t _believe_ you sometimes…”

You didn’t even wait for them to finish. The fact that there were apparently high-ranking Imperial officers meeting with this mystery man was all the information you needed for any seed of doubt in your mind to be crushed. The holopad fell from your hands to land screen-down on the floor, entirely forgotten. Leaping up from the couch and power-walking towards your bedroom on tremulous legs, you flung the door closed behind you and hurriedly began rooting through your closet, looking for something halfway presentable to change into. You stripped yourself of your sweatpants and ripped t-shirt, having finally settled on a glittering shimmersilk dress that you’d impulsively bought as a present to yourself after your last pay raise. You paused as you pulled the thin material over your head, debating whether or not to put on a bra before you dressed any further. With a curt sigh at yourself, you continued to slip your arms through the straps, smoothing the bunched fabric over the swell of your breasts. There was no point in bothering with one of those itchy, lacy garments you owned, that only you had ever laid eyes on - if all went according to plan tonight, your bra would just be coming off sooner rather than later. You bent to slip your bare feet into a pair of plain black flats - you’d considered heels for a brief moment, but decided against them on the off-chance you had to make a quick getaway - when you were interrupted by the bedroom door colliding with the wall as it was unceremoniously flung open.

“...And just where the _frozz_ do you think you’re going wearing _that?_ ” A disbelieving voice intoned harshly from the doorway, and you looked up to see your roommate blocking the light flooding in from the living area, a panic-stricken expression written across their features. You paused, your arms hanging limply at your sides, staring determinedly back at your roommate, whose face was beginning to reflect a dawning sense of horror and understanding. 

_“Out._ ” You answered in a bland monotone, snatching your handbag off the bed and peeking inside of it, making sure that the keycard to your apartment door, as well as your credit chip and a healthy pouch of physical Imperial credit coins, were tucked away safely inside. Your roommate strode forward, grabbing your forearm and squeezing tightly, causing you to wince as they forced you to look them in the eye.

“Out _where?_ ”

You didn’t reply, your plans already dangerously close to unraveling. Your roommate’s grip tightened to the point of pain, and you were stunned to see that their eyes had filled with tears of fright. You knew you should feel guilty for putting them through this sort of duress, for worrying them to the point of weeping over your safety, but the only thing you found yourself feeling was a sort of grim pleasure. The fact that someone you had grown so close to in your years of living in Cloud City, a creature you considered to be one of your closest friends, could be frightened to this level by the thought of you becoming somehow entangled with the notorious Boba Fett, did nothing but give you a sick sense of satisfaction deep in your gut. It heightened the swirling arousal that was already building deep in the pit of your belly, fantastical images of what this night’s adventure could possibly bring already brewing in your mind. Your roommate finally loosened their vice grip on your arm and shook their head unbelievingly, backing away from you as if you were tainted.

“Oh, _stars_ … I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t do this. This isn’t some game of Droids and Guards, you fool, he’s _dangerous_.” They begged, seeming nearer and nearer to tears with every word. 

“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to get myself into a situation I can’t handle, I just… I just want to _see_ him.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder and heard the childish, lovestruck pleading in your voice. You hated yourself for it, for letting yourself get this much in a tizzy over a mere _man_ \- but this truly wasn’t _just_ a man, was it? You could very possibly wind up in bed with none other than _Boba Fett_ by the end of the night, if the galaxy was kind to you. He was going to be the first to ever claim you - as you pushed past your roommate and headed for the door, you were certain of it. This was your darkest, deepest fantasy come true, something you had been pining for and secretly dreaming about since you were old enough to even fathom the concept of sex, of virginity. Boba Fett was the only man you’d ever thought about giving yourself to for years now, and this was quite possibly your only chance. There was no turning back now.

“Didn’t you hear me say that he was surrounded by Imps?! _High-ranking Imps!_ He _kills_ people for _money_! He’s here working for the Emperor, I know it, and that big brute Vader’s still lurking around -” You held up one hand to silence them, and to your surprise, they immediately stopped, wild-eyed and staring at you imploriously, hands raised above their head. You had never seen your friend this keyed up, this stricken by concern for your wellbeing. It felt strange to say, but other than butterflies in your stomach from thinking about how the rest of the night could go, you didn’t understand just what this panic was all about. You weren’t stupid enough to interrupt important Imperial business, and it wasn’t like Lord Vader himself was going to be sitting at the bar, nursing a drink - right?

“Just… don’t wait up for me tonight. Okay?” You quietly asked of your friend, your voice sweetly soft and as neutral as you could manage. A long moment passed between the two of you, no words spoken, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Several beats passed in silence, only the traffic outside interrupting the heavy tension that filled the room. Your roommate was the first to break, their shoulders sinking, defeated. You felt a new burst of energy and smug satisfaction, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat remorseful at your reaction towards their obvious distress. The feeling passed quickly, however, when your roommate bowed their head, the ghost of a smile on their lips as they clucked their tongue and shook their head at you.

“ _Dank farrik_ … you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? ...Okay. You win.” They sighed. You kept your expression even, although you were screaming with joy on the inside, and were about to reach out to embrace them, when they took a step back and pointed in your face. You felt yourself going slightly cross-eyed, following their finger down the bridge of your nose, and had to stifle an ill-timed giggle. “But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m contacting the Wing Guard and reporting you missing, and I’m going to tell them who you were trying to meet up with. I’ll get Baron Calrissian and the Alliance involved. Don’t think I won’t.” They continued, and your heart skipped a beat. You certainly weren’t expecting that turn of events, but weren’t exactly surprised either. With how sympathetic your roommate was to the Rebel Alliance, especially concerning the events of the past week and the installation of what the locals were beginning to call the ‘Iron Blockade,’ it made sense that they would threaten you with action involving the Rebellion, even if it was just out of concern for your safe return. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the Rebels yourself - their crushing blow to the Empire in the form of the destruction of the Death Star had reinvigorated your hope in their cause, especially after the horrific obliteration of Alderaan - but the purely selfish, immature side of you wondered what would happen to Boba Fett if the Rebellion were to come out the victors of this current Galactic Civil War. He _was_ one of Vader’s most prized assets, and you had a feeling that the Rebels wouldn’t smile kindly upon his transgressions against them. Especially since one of their most famous generals, Han Solo, currently had a bounty on his head large enough to buy an entire spice mine, and it had been speculated on the HoloNet that Fett was one of the many bounty hunters attempting to cash in on this coveted prize.

You walked past your roommate without another word, slipping past them in the doorway of your bedroom, and padded easily across the living area carpet, knowing now that they’d had put their last word in and would no longer attempt to stop you. Settling your hand upon the doorknob leading into the hall, you were about to let yourself out into the night when you heard the Aruzan softly call your name, and you turned. They stood in the center of the room, smiling sadly, arms folded across their chest, a look of intense worry upon their face as they watched you exit, hoping they would find you back home in the morning. Their last words to you rang in your ears as you made your way across the night sky in the space taxi that would deposit you right on the steps of the Atrium.

_“Good luck.”_

-

You stepped into the main lounge of the Paradise Atrium and instantly felt incredibly out of place, and exorbitantly underdressed despite the expensive shimmersilk you had draped yourself in for this special occasion.

The room was filled with regal-looking creatures from all over the galaxy - a large group of Twi’leks sat on a couch in the far corner, smoking from a hookah and emitting large columns of purple and green smoke through their nostrils in between bouts of gay laughter, and a company of important-looking Nothoiin congregated around the elaborate carbonite sculpture placed in the center of the room. You’d attended gatherings at the Atrium many times before, but you’d never been in the presence of so many upper-class individuals. You wouldn’t be surprised if just one of these creatures was currently carrying more credits in their pockets than you would ever see in your entire lifetime. Not to mention, there were several armored stormtroopers, their white plastoid suits gleaming in the artificial light, holding sentinel near the staff entrance at the rear of the room, a sight you’d never seen here before. Something was _definitely_ going down in Cloud City, and you had walked right into it. That realization alone made you want to sink into the floor, and what made it even worse was the fact that there was no sign of Boba Fett.

You had crept into the Atrium as discreetly as you could, almost on tiptoe, and in hindsight you weren’t exactly sure what you had been expecting. Had you thought that you’d walk in and Fett himself would have been standing there, awaiting your entrance like a prince from a storybook, on call for his princess’s arrival at the ball? Heart hammering wildly, leaning against the wall for support, you had scanned the room twice, then thrice over, looking for a flash of green, a swirl of cape, any indication that he was present, only to come up empty. He simply wasn’t here; at least he wasn’t anymore, if he ever had been in the first place. As much as you loved your roommate, and despite their almost violent reaction they’d had to the knowledge that you were - at the very least - trying to meet Boba Fett, it wouldn’t terribly surprise you if they had been pulling your leg all along. You’d trudge back into your shared apartment, dejected, and your roommate would be there, grinning smugly, lecturing that the moral of this story was to never hook up with strange men.

Gazing around the room once more and seeing no sign of Fett, or at the very least, the Imperial graysuits that he’d apparently been here meeting with, you found yourself almost embarrassingly heartbroken. You’d banked so much on tonight, only for it to wind up being a missed chance, if not a complete fake-out. You refused to give your roommate the satisfaction of heading straight back home, though, so you figured now was as good a time as any to drink your sorrows away at the bar. The Paradise Cantina was adjacent to the Atrium and contained a half-moon bar as well as several comfortable private booths, and you sidled onto one of the stools at the center of the console, directly in front of the bartender, a distinguished-looking Bothan who eyed you dubiously.

“Anything I can get for you, kid?” He asked gruffly, polishing a glass and looking you up and down, feeling you out. Although you had lounged with friends at the Atrium, even attended a few workplace parties there, you’d never really been a patron of the bar, and you felt the clientele ogling you suspiciously. It obviously wasn’t an ordinary occurrence, to see a scantily clad young woman sitting alone at a high-class bar, and the various eyes on you made your skin crawl, although you did your best to ignore the unwanted attention.

“Just a Jedi Mind Trick, please. Make it a double” You replied softly, keeping your eyes down, tracing your fingernail against the wood grain of the bar. You heard the Bothan snort, probably amused at your choice of such a strong drink right off the bat, doubting you could hold your liquor. The way you saw it, though, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting shit-faced here than simply slinking off home alone, to wallow in bed self-despairingly. 

The bartender had just set the triangular glass full of bright blue liquid on the counter in front of you when a door you hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room slid open, and a figure stepped out. A hush immediately fell over the room, which had previously been filled with glasses clinking, quiet conversation and laughter, and a holographic quenk jazz band being broadcast. You didn’t bother to look over at first, too absorbed in your own self-pity to care, picking up the glass and knocking the entire drink back in one gulp, leaving the edges of your mind slightly blurred.

That’s when you heard the spurs.

_Kshnk. Kshnk. Kshnk._

At first you assumed it was solely a figment of your imagination, an effect of the alcohol being absorbed into your system, until you realized that the room had gone silent, that even the hologram of the band had ceased playing. You looked up at the bartender, but he was staring over the top of your head, paused in the act of refilling another guest’s stein. The jangling sound filled your ears until you could hear nothing else, not even the sound of your own breathing, and a chill went down your spine. You were clenching your empty glass so tight that you were surprised it didn’t shatter in your hand. Gingerly, you turned around to acknowledge the cantina’s newest arrival, your stomach rolling with anticipation, your blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding like a gigantic drum sitting in your chest cavity. You looked up.

And there he was.

_Boba Fett._

He was shorter than you expected.

You felt a near-hysterical giggle rise in your throat as the realization crossed your mind, that this was your very first thought upon seeing the man you’d envisioned fucking you time and time again - in person, finally. The laughter died in your throat as he turned to cross the room, only several meters away from you, and you got your first real look at him.

Stars, he was _beautiful._

Boba Fett walked slowly, methodically, with more purpose than you had ever seen another creature move, even though it seemed his only motive at the moment was to find a place to sit down. The dented helmet that concealed his features didn’t break its steady gaze straight ahead even once as Fett crossed the room, even though every eye in the cantina was locked to him. There was no way the man didn’t know that he was currently the center of attention, the reason for the palatable silence in the air, and it was quite obvious that he didn’t care one parsec. The green armor he wore was littered with scrapes and scars and dents, but still shone in the low light of the bar, as if had only just been waxed, and you shivered at the thought of getting to press your bare chest against the battle-flecked breastplate. A ragged cape was tossed over one shoulder, and your eyes were drawn to the string of inexplicable numbers glowing out from an interface on the right-hand side of his armor, and to the strange symbol mirroring its position, a stalk of wheat framed by a bright red drop of blood and what looked to be lettering in a language you didn’t recognize, directly above his heart. There were several long braids of multi-colored and variously textured hair thrown over the opposite side of his shoulder plate, the sight of which sent another delicious chill up your spine. You knew you should be repulsed by the sight of those trophies of war alone, but it served as a confirmation of something you already knew - this man was _dangerous_. There was debate on the HoloNet as to the origin of those braids - some who’d been following Fett’s career, as you did, were adamant that they were made of the scalps of Wookiees he’d killed; yet others claimed they were the braids of Jedi Padawans he’d hunted down at the request of Lord Darth Vader himself. Your eyes flitted downwards to below his waist, heat flushing through your system. The greenish codpiece was just as battered as the rest of the armor - even more so, upon a closer look. Judging by the craggy yet shallow indentation located almost in the dead-center of it, some unfortunate soul had made a last ditch effort to save themselves by taking a shot at what they must have thought was the most vulnerable area on Fett’s body. They had obviously been wrong, and you were grateful for it. 

Almost seeming to move in slow motion, the bounty hunter passed directly by the bar, and you could have sworn you could sense his body heat even from several meters away, could smell blaster smoke and blood on him. As repulsive as those scents should have been, reminiscent of battlefields and death and suffering, you felt almost soothed by the thought of being able to press your face to the rough cloth that held the Mandalorian armor together, breathe in those aromas as deeply as you wished, a smell that was so distinctly him. You focused your gaze on Boba Fett once more just in time to see him settle himself at a raised table in the corner, reclining back casually. He seemed to finally notice that all other movement and conversation in the cantina had ceased upon his arrival, and his helmet swiveled first to the left, then to the right, making direct eye contact with several goggling patrons, who uneasily turned away under his gaze. Fett’s visor then turned in your direction and your heart walloped frantically in your chest - ‘ _has he noticed me?’_ \- but it became obvious quite quickly that he was looking past you, straight at the Bothan behind the bar, who regarded Fett for a long moment before offering him a grudging nod. Almost as if this were some sort of cue, the holographic band started up again with a lively rendition of ‘Sugaan Essena,’ and the muttered discussions, tinkling of glasses, and laughter resumed. The clients of the Paradise Atrium and Cantina seemed eager to forget that the deadliest bounty hunter in the known galaxy was seated in their midst. Fett, however, had cast his gaze to the city outside, watching the rows of traffic track across the nighttime sky, gloved hands resting firmly on his knees, deep in thought. 

You watched out of the corner of your eye as three young Zabrak women wearing matching skintight baffleweave bodysuits made a beeline for Fett’s table as soon as the atmosphere had settled down, obviously over-eager for their chance to flirt with danger. You sniggered when the armored figure sent them away with a wave of his hand before they even had a chance to close in on him, watched them turn tail with their heads down almost as quickly as they had first come. You tried to ignore the coiling pit of unease in your belly as you considered moving forward with your plan, despite the fact that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Fett did not want to be bothered. You continued to watch the man as his attention was drawn back to the outside world. _‘Oh, hell. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen, he tells you to kark off?’_

“Hey… would you send a drink over to that table in the corner? Whatever he usually orders when he comes here.” You waved the bartender over, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at Boba Fett, jerking your chin in his direction as well for emphasis. You were trying to play it cool, sending a drink to the table of one of the most bloodthirsty men in the galaxy, but you were sure that the bartender could see your hand shaking as you made the request. The tall Bothan looked at you as if you had asked him for a diamond-encrusted barrel of Coruscanti bitters, straight from the Emperor’s private reserve.

“...You sure about that, kid? You _do_ know who that is, right? Boba Fett’s one tough customer. You’d be better off not messing around with that barve.” He leaned down towards you, warning you off as if you were a child, trying to play with the older kids who would only include you in their games if it meant beating you within an inch of your life. You nodded, looking back with what you hoped was a steely determination.

_“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”_

The Bothan looked at you for a moment with great pity, as if he were gazing upon a creature that had just consigned itself to its doom. Heaving a sigh that quivered the fur lining his muzzle, the bartender turned and started preparing another glass.

You couldn’t even look as the drink was prepared and brought across the room by one of the ornate serving droids that wandered the cantina. You kept your head low, jiggling one leg on the stool beneath you, digging your fingernails into the glossy wood that encompassed the top of the bar. The minutes seemed to tick by excruciatingly, and you were overcome by the notion that maybe you should leave, get up and bolt when you still could, escape before Fett was aware of what fool had sent him the drink, go home to bed and forget any of this had ever happened. But too late - just as you were beginning to shift in your seat, to lean in the direction of the doorway and gather up the momentum to run, the bartender cleared his throat, causing your head to pop up at the sudden noise. The Bothan looked you in the eyes and did nothing but give you a subtle bob of his head, watching a point across the room. You followed his eyes, and stopped dead in your tracks.

Boba Fett was staring at you.

Openly leering at you was a better term for it, his entire body turned in your direction, lazily slumped in his seat, his legs spread comfortably wide. Kriff, _this was just like your daydream._ As soon as he was sure that he had your attention, and as if he had read your mind, one hand rose from its spot resting against the ample meat of his thigh, and two deft fingers hidden under an off-white glove of bantha leather beckoned you closer with a quick curling motion. It was an action that whispered, _‘Come hither, my dear. Let’s play.’_

Your stomach lurched and your vision suddenly filled with black spots, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, the quick pain bringing you back from the brink of passing out. Your eyes refocused, the dark points fading away, and there he still sat, his position unchanged. _He was waiting for you to come over._ You looked back at the bartender for guidance - by now you were sure he had seen this song and dance played out here many times before - and the Bothan gave you a roll of his deep-set dark eyes, and a noncommittal shrug. He’d already written you off as another casualty, the sad result of human naïveté in the face of the galaxy’s bloodthirstiness.

You rose from your stool on legs that felt as if they were made of bacta, your feet seeming to glide across the floor of the Atrium, bringing you ever closer to Boba Fett. The cantina patrons seemed to part like a sea for you, and you didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if they were staring, whispering about you. Your eyes and thoughts belonged only to the helmeted man who had beckoned you closer, and whose parted legs you were now standing almost directly between. You were so close that you could see yourself reflected in his blackened visor, dumbfounded. You were visibly trembling, and you could feel Fett’s body heat rolling off him, soaking into your own legs as you planted yourself before him. It took you a moment to comprehend that he was waiting for _you_ to speak, for you to make the first move.

“...You’re here for Han Solo, aren’t you? Everyone knows you’ve been after him for ages now, and _he’s_ here, and _you’re_ here, and that can’t be a coincidence, right? It’s like -” The words rushed from your mouth in an excited torrent, and you were fully aware that you were babbling at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. Every nerve-ending in your body felt sparked with the fire of a planet’s core, you were absolutely thrumming, and you didn’t care whether you sounded like an idiot in front of this man who you’d lusted after for ages, just as long as you were talking to him, that you had his attention. Mercifully, Fett’s palm came up, the same move he had used on the Zabraks earlier in the night. You stopped mid-sentence, your mouth still hanging upon, your eyes wide and glassy.

“I’m here on business. What exactly that pertains to is none of your concern.” The reply was smooth and unhurried, and he didn’t even look at you. Boba Fett seemed much more concerned with what was going on outside the Atrium’s walls, his line of sight falling past you, towards the lights of the Administrator's Palace. _Where Han Solo probably was, if the rumors of him being Leia Organa’s current consort were true._ So you were right. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in words, it was almost like the bounty hunter was showing you. At least, that’s how you chose to take it.

“...Oh. Okay. ...Fair enough, I guess.” You cautiously replied, unsure of how to proceed when he offered no further conversation, and cringed inwardly. _Stars_ , you were truly awful at small talk. No wonder you’d never gotten laid. Fett’s helmet snapped towards you like a sharp cut with a blade, his restraint with your dallying almost nonexistent, and you felt yourself flush hotly as you realized you’d just been staring blankly at him the entire time, drinking him up just as greedily as any Hutt would look upon an enslaved dancer. There was no way he couldn’t tell, and your confidence and excitability wavered. 

“So what exactly is it that you want from me, girl? I don’t have the time nor the patience to be followed around and gifted tokens at bars by starry-eyed brats. Say what you will, or I’ll have you removed from my sight. _Now_.”

There was ice in his voice, and you found yourself slightly afraid for the first time. The idea of Boba Fett growing angry with you was not something you wanted to experience. You had to say your piece now, or risk losing what you wanted forever. You balled your fists so hard that you were sure your nails were cutting through the skin of your palms, but you stood your ground. You weren’t going to let Fett intimidate you away from what you wanted of him, not now. You were too close.

So you told him, blunt and straight to the point.

“I’ve never been fucked. I want you to be my first.”

Fett’s form stiffened in his seat, the gloved hand that had been nonchalantly resting on his thigh almost imperceptibly gripping the hard muscle beneath. You didn’t notice, nor were you able to sense the fact that he was holding his breath. Despite the extraordinary self-control Boba Fett had cultivated over every aspect of his functions during his decades of bounty hunting, he felt his cock twitch involuntarily within the confines of his flight pants. He’d encountered plenty of _cyar’tomade_ across the galaxy over the years, desperate creatures of all types looking to spend a night in his company just for the later bragging rights, others looking to fulfill some sort of bizarre erotic fantasy - he’d taken up plenty of those offers, and turned down even more. Boba Fett was a man who enjoyed sex, and he made no secret of the fact that he had been scoping the lounge for a prospective bedpartner after the meeting with Lieutenant Sheckil and his graysuits. That wretched smuggler Solo finally had a date with a carbonite chamber tomorrow evening after he and Vader’s planned ambush at the Administrator’s Palace in the morning, and Fett fully intended to vent some excess energy tonight before finally collecting on the barve’s hefty bounty. It was back to Jabba’s afterwards, and more bounties to collect on, and even less downtime. Fett enjoyed his life of solitude, practically thrived on it, but still… he was only human, and he had his needs. 

What he hadn’t expected was being cornered and propositioned by a willing and eager _virgin_. And such a _pretty_ thing, too. This was a first, and he had to admit he was already getting hard at the thought of teaching this little naïf how to please a man, to be the one to take her like nobody had before, to show her just who exactly she was dealing with.

“ _Well_ … aren’t you a _bold_ one.” He finally exhaled, still avoiding any semblance of eye contact with you, his focus seeming to be on stirring the cubes around his drink. You swallowed thickly, watching Fett’s index finger push the metallic straw back and forth in the glass lackadaisically. He hadn’t touched the drink at all, but you didn’t care. You wanted that finger in your mouth, down your throat, glove and all, but shook yourself from the daydream when it occurred to you that Fett was watching, waiting for a response. 

“I’ve found that fortune favors the bold.” You pushed yourself into the chair opposite him, trying to conceal how badly your legs were wobbling. You had waded chest-deep into completely unknown territory, and you felt as if you were going to faint at any moment if you didn’t take a seat. To emphasize your point, you reached out and grasped the drink you had sent to his table just minutes ago, tipping your head back and draining half the glass in one swig. Your head swimming from the sudden rush of hard liquor, you settled the glass back on the polished wood and steadied your gaze on the bounty hunter. Fett cocked his helmet at you, an amused snort emanating from underneath, a slight metallic edge to it thanks to the vocoder that helped conceal his voice. He laid his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body forward towards you, the posture of a gossiping schoolboy, mocking and insolent.

“And what makes you think I’d want to be the one to break you in, _vaar’ika_?”

He almost purred the question, sickly sweet. There was no outright malice there, no, but he was _teasing_ you; you could hear the laughter in his voice. You could tell he thought you were nothing but a stupid little girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and it shamed you into silence. You felt your throat tightening, your eyes starting to burn, and you begged yourself, _‘Don’t you dare start crying and prove him right. You know what you came here for. Don’t you_ ** _dare_** _.’_ But it was much easier said than done, and your attempt to coax yourself out of this panic only seemed to deepen it. You came _this_ close to fulfilling your fantasy, you could have practically reached out and touched it, but it all had to fall to pieces because you were really nothing but a blubbering baby. You weren’t worthy of being with Boba Fett, and it had been a pipedream to think so even for a moment. 

“I… I-I don’t know. _I don’t know._ I don’t know what I was _thinking_ , coming here. I’ve made an ass of myself and I’ve completely wasted your time, I’m so sorry -”

Your eyes brimming with embarrassed tears, hot and heavy on your lashes and threatening to spill over at any moment, you ducked your head and pushed the chair out as quickly as you could, moving to brush past the still-seated bounty hunter and make a break for it out into the cool night air. With a harsh gasp, you felt yourself suddenly being jerked back by the elbow, almost stumbling with the force of the pull. Boba Fett’s gauntleted hand was gripping your arm in an iron hold, the black void of his visor locked onto your face. There was no way to tell, of course, and you couldn’t say how you knew, but you could have sworn he was smiling at you.

“ _I didn’t say no, little one._ Tell me again what you want of me.” Fett intoned evenly, but not unkindly, releasing his hold on you. To your shock, he ran his hand down your arm as he let you go, and it almost felt - of all things - _reassuring_. Arousal pooled to your core so quickly at Fett’s surprisingly soft touch and tone that it took you a few extra moments to even register what he had said.

_‘He didn’t say no. It’s not possible. Does he actually want to? ...And he called me ‘little one.’_

You could have died then and there, on the plush carpeted floor of the Paradise Atrium, but your words found you, every ounce of courage in your frame flooding through your veins at once.

“Take me back to your ship. Let me give myself to you. I want to be yours tonight… only yours. _Please._ ” You laid a trembling hand on his wrist, still expecting to be violently brushed away, told to back off and go home if you knew what was good for you, threatened with disintegration or a blaster shot to the chest or _something_. But the harsh gesture or violent threat never came. The scarred green helmet tilted downwards to regard your fingers clutching at the armor, and after a quiet beat, Boba Fett’s gaze returned yours. Although you couldn’t see the eyes hidden behind that dark, T-shaped visor, you could feel them burrowing into your very soul, sweeping over you greedily, like a prize to be taken. Gooseflesh rippled up your arms and your stomach rolled, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore. Silently, you withdrew your fingers, letting your hands fall limply to your sides, and Fett nodded, seemingly satisfied with your plea. 

“As you wish, _nehutyc’ika_. Come, then.” With that, Boba Fett stood in one swift motion, and held one palm out for you to take, open and inviting.

You felt as if you’d been kicked in the chest. You were instantly sober, any trace of alcohol from the night’s earlier wallowing fully flushed from your system by the influx of adrenaline currently screaming through your body. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and for a brief moment you wondered if he was playing with you, if this were some sort of sick joke, but you knew in the deepest recess of your heart that it wasn’t. He was serious. He’d made a career out of not backing down on deals. _Boba Fett was a man of his word._

So you took his hand and let yourself be spirited away into the night by a figure from your best daydreams, and from other creatures’ worst nightmares.


End file.
